


Fever

by KingCrowleysLittlePet_666



Series: Supernatural Reader Inserts (Stories and Drabbles) [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fever, Fluff, Illness, Medicine, Sick Character, Vomiting, care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 16:49:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13685736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingCrowleysLittlePet_666/pseuds/KingCrowleysLittlePet_666
Summary: You've got the flu that has been going around everywhere, but Dean is there to make sure you're alright.Request: Can you write a Dean imagine in which he takes care of the reader when she’s really sick? I’ve been terribly sick with the flu for the past week. Thank you for your consideration.





	Fever

“Get. Away. From. Me.” You growled between clenched teeth, glaring at the older Winchester who stood parallel to you on the opposite side of the bed.

You were breaking out into a sweat and your skin was pale. You began to pant from the effort you put into getting away from Dean. Dean held a bottle of Dayquil in his left hand with a little ‘medical shot glass’ - as you liked to call them - in his right. Over a week’s time, it seemed that you had developed an illness and for the past three days, you had gotten increasingly worse. The flu had been going around and news reports had said that Kansas was one of the worst states that contained to flu. You, out of you, Dean, and Sam, however, were the one that was cursed with the dreaded virus and forced into bed with symptoms ranging from fever, cold sweats, and vomiting. You had declined any medications previously and Dean was attempting to coax you into taking the liquid medicine that they had in the medicine cabinets, but you refused. That medicine tasted nasty and always made you lethargic. You did  _ not _ want to spend the next four or five days in a cycle of drowsy days and restless nights. 

“Come on, (Y/N).” Dean said, sighing. He raised up the meds, flashing the label to you. “You have to take this if you’re going to get better.” 

“I would rather drink battery acid.” You said, swaying slightly before you caught yourself on the bed. You groaned and held onto your stomach, feeling the bile make its way up your throat. 

“Pretend this is battery acid and lay your ass in the bed.” Dean pointed to the bed. “You can’t even stand up by yourself.” 

Your vision was slightly blurry and you could feel that the sweat that covered your body was starting to soak through your shirt. You felt disgusting. It felt as if you needed a shower. 

“I wanna go shower.” You mumbled and stumbled your way to the end of the bed. 

“No, no, no, no,” Dean walked over to you and caught you just as you were going to collapse on the floor. Quickly, he laid you down in the bed. “You can shower later, right now, you’re staying in the bed. You need to get better.” 

“I’m fine.” You grumbled and pressed your hands weakly against his chest and tried to push him away. Dean stayed completely still, though. 

“You’re not fine. You’re running a thousand degree fever-” 

“102.5” You corrected. 

“Same thing. Either way, you need rest and I’m making sure you don’t get up.” Dean said and ran his fingers through your hair in a soothing way. “Now, take the medicine.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“After you’re done being sick.” He said, keeping a straight face. 

“Ew…” You grumbled. 

“Sit up.” 

Despite all the feelings in your rebellious mind telling you to disobey, you were too tired to try. You sat up and leaned against the abundance of pillows that were laid out behind you. Dean nodded and took the cap off the bottle of medicine before he began to pour the liquid into the medical shot glass. It was thick and orange. The mere sight of it made you hold in a gag. The liquid cascaded to the bottom of a shot glass. Once it was filled halfway, Dean held it out to you. 

“Drink it.” He said. 

You glared at the plastic cup and shook your head. “No.” You grumbled. 

“Drink it.” Dean repeated as he moved it closer to you. 

“No.” 

“Yes.” 

“No,” You groaned tiredly and kicked your feet childishly. 

Dean sighed and stood up straight. “Come on, (Y/N). I swear you’ll feel so much better if you drink it.” 

“I feel fine.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “If you drink it, then you get to choose what we have for supper every day for a week starting next Monday.” 

You raised your brows and glanced at Dean, staring deep into his emerald green eyes. “For real?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You promise?” 

“I promise, kiddo, now drink the medicine.” 

You still had a hesitant look on your face as you grabbed the small cup, stared deeply into the orange river before plugging up your nose and taking it down like a shot of whiskey. You swallowed it and shook your head rapidly, as if trying to rid the taste from your tastebuds. The taste was something that you absolutely detested, but it wasn’t as bad as you had made it out to be. You gave Dean the small cup back. 

“Go ahead and lay down.” He instructed, pointing towards the bed. 

You groaned in protest, but laid down, head nestling into the soft pillow as it curled around your head. 

“I’ll be right back. Do  _ not _ try and get up.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” You waved your hand towards Dean as he walked out of the room, leaving the door wide open. 

A sigh fell from your lips as you closed your eyes, leaning your head to the side. You coughed lightly and groaned. 

“How are you feeling, (Y/N)?” You perked up and saw Sam standing near the door. You knew that the kid didn’t wanna get anywhere near you in fear that you would get him sick as well. Sam was cautious like that. Dean, however, didn’t care if he got sick or hurt in the process of making you or Sam better. Dean was an idiot, but he always meant well.

You groaned. “Don’t tell your brother, but not good.” 

“I’m pretty sure that he could tell just by looking at you.” 

“Do I really look that bad?” 

“Yeah, you kinda do.” Sam nodded, placing his hands into his jean pockets. “You look really pale.” 

You shook your head and groaned. “I’ll be alright. Dean’s going to take care of me.” 

“If you need anything, (Y/N), you can ask me too.” 

“Thanks, Sam.” You said and sat up, coughing lightly. “But I know about you and your germophobia.” 

“It’s not germophobia. I just like to keep myself healthy.” 

“Health nut.” You grumbled. 

Sam rolled his eyes and turned to walk out, only to be stopped by his brother. 

Dean pushed by Sam gently. “‘Xcuse me, Sammy.” Dean mumbled as he made his way back over to you. In his hands, he had two different washcloths in his hands. One was gently folded and the other was lumpy and bulging. Without another word, Sam vanished from the room, closing the door behind him. You glanced at the washcloths and furrowed your brows. 

“What are those?” You asked. 

“I made one hot and the other cold.” He said and sat on the bed next to you. 

“I want the cold one.” You said. 

Dean nodded. “Let’s try it.” He said. 

He took the lumpy washcloth and pressed it against your forehead. You shivered shightly and whimpered. When the coolness from the ice that was packed into the cloth set in, you relaxed, limbs going limp and a smile appearing on your face. 

“That feels good.” You mumbled. 

Dean smiled as he moved on the bed until he was laying next to you. He got comfortable, laying on his back with his head on the pillow. You shook your head. 

“You should go.” You said. “You’ll get sick too.” 

“I’m willing to risk it, sweetheart.” Dean said and pulled you onto his chest, rubbing your back. 

A yelp fell from your lips. Dean positioned the two of you so that your head laid on his chest and the sound of his steady, soothing heartbeat echoed against your eardrum. You slapped his chest lightly. 

“I don’t want you to get sick. Being sick sucks.” You said. 

“Don’t worry, (Y/N),” Dean said. “All that matters is getting you better.” 

You blushed lightly - it might have been from the fever. You weren’t sure. Dean grabbed the washcloth and began to dab it lightly against the different parts of your face and your neck. 

“Just tell me if you feel like you’re going to throw up, sweetheart.” He said. “I’m really not in the mood to clean vomit off myself.” 

You chuckled. ‘I’ll try my best.” You assured him. 

“For now,” He said. “I want you to go to sleep and give that medicine some time to work.” 

“But I don’t want to go to sleep.” 

“And I told you that I wanted you to.” 

You groaned and gave a small nod. “Okay.” 

Dean wrapped his arms tightly around you, pulling you close to himself. Doing as you were told, you closed your eyes and felt your body slowly drift off into the deep feeling of slumber. 

  
  
  


The feeling of your stomach swirling woke you up. It felt as if your stomach was twitching and clenching. Bile traveled up your throat and you immediately placed your hand against your mouth. You jumped off Dean’s chest, causing him to jump up watch as you ran to the bathroom that sat in the corner of the room. Falling to your knees, you opened up the toilet seat and threw up every piece of food that was left in your stomach. Dean rushed to the bathroom and knelt beside you. He grabbed your hair, pulling it back. 

You coughed as the bile left your throat. A sob fell from your lips and your thighs began to tremble. Dean placed one of his massive hands on your back, rubbing it in circles. Once the moment ended, you sat back, running your fingers through your hair, which was damp with sweat. 

“You alright?” Dean asked. 

You nodded. “Yeah...I…” You covered your mouth and pushed yourself forward again, vomiting more contents into the toilet. 

Tears appeared in your eyes from the burning in your throat. The contents of your stomach had soon filled the bowl. When the lurking in your stomach seized, you reached up and flushed the toilet, hot fingers wrapping around the cold toilet bowl. You panted, sweat droplets falling from your face. 

When the feeling appeared that your stomach was empty and you weren’t at risk anymore, you leaned back again, head against the neck of the sink. Your skin was a ghostly color and your limbs were weak. 

“Are you alright?” He whispered, rubbing your shoulder. 

You opened your mouth to speak, only to release a gag from your throat. You hugged the toilet bowl and threw nothing up but air. The gags kept coming. You began to cry, tears streaming down your cheeks, mixing with the sweat. 

“Make it stop.” You sobbed. 

Dean felt his heart clench at the cry you let out. He sighed and rubbed your back. “I’m sorry.” It was the only thing that he could say. He knew that he couldn’t do anything that would stop the vomiting, but he hoped that it helped that he was there to comfort you. 

The gagging stopped and you collapsed against the toilet. You felt relief in the coolness of the seat. 

“Do you want to go back to the bed?” He asked and ran his fingers through your hair. 

You could barely keep your eyes open as you gave him a weak nod. He pulled you against him and stood before hoisting you up in his arms. He groaned as he fully stood and walked to the bedroom. He laid down in the bed and covered you up. He grabbed the washcloth and dabbed it on your forehead. You pulled away. 

“Too warm.” You grumbled. 

Dean frowned. “I’ll go get some more ice.” He said as he got up and vanished from the room. 

It felt as if your lungs were going to collapse and, you knew for a fact, that the next time you threw up you were going to throw up your stomach. You tried not to move in your bed, arms wrapped around your middle and knees brought up to your chest in an attempt to calm the storm that was brewing inside your gut. 

Dean came back with a washcloth that dripped with icy water. He walked over to you and climbed into the bed alongside you. He placed the cloth on your forehead. You shivered violently and whined. 

“I know. I know.” Dean said and ran the edge of the cloth against every inch of your exposed skin. “I’m sorry you don’t feel good sweetheart.” 

“It’s not your fault.” You said. “Thank….thank you for taking care of me.” 

“It’s no big deal,” Dean shook his head and smiled. 

“Still, thanks.” You smiled. 

“No problem. Now go back to sleep and we will see how you feel in the morning.” 

Without much hesitation, you gave him a small nod. Dean pulled you just as close to his chest as he had before. The sound of his breathing mixed with the pounding of his heartbeat was like a symphony to your ear, lulling you into the deep, medicated slumber that you so desperately needed. 


End file.
